


Vital Link

by Im_The_Doctor (Bofur1)



Series: The Pacemakers [20]
Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Alien Cultural Differences, Angst and Feels, Awkward Conversations, Comfort, Fluff and Humor, Holidays, Homesickness, Impatience, Loyalty, Mid-Canon, Minibot Culture, Nostalgia, Pace Mates, Pack Dynamics, Platonic Cuddling, Suspicions, Team as Family, Thanksgiving, Traditions, Understanding, Weekend Vacation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-01
Updated: 2015-12-01
Packaged: 2018-05-04 06:47:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5324501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bofur1/pseuds/Im_The_Doctor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bumblebee spends a holiday weekend with Spike and Sparkplug and when he returns, things will never be the same.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vital Link

**Author's Note:**

> Pace - A company or herd of mules; in my headcanon, a family of Minibots; also a traditional expectation and an honor among Minibots who form one.
> 
> Culumexian - the form of Cybertronian spoken by residents of Culumex, the Minibot city on Cybertron, or the residents themselves

Bumblebee had barely gotten through the rec room doors before Cliffjumper materialized at his side, slapping his back with an enthusiastic hand and pushing a cube of energon at him.

“Bee, you’re back!”

“I sure am,” Bumblebee agreed, laughing a little as he was steered toward the occupied table in the far left corner. “Hey, guys!”

“Come here,” Windcharger urged, slapping the circular bench immediately to his right. “How was your weekend of **gratucev**?”

Bumblebee smiled at the Culumexian term. “The humans call it Thanksgiving, Charger. It was different—they certainly don’t celebrate like us!—but still fun.” The youngest member of the pace had spent the weekend at Spike and Sparkplug’s residence, celebrating the traditional holiday. Though the rest of the pace had been invited, they had declined (likely due to Huffer’s influence), preferring to celebrate in the ways of their people.

“That’s good to hear,” Brawn approved as Bumblebee scrambled onto the bench between him and Windcharger. Cliffjumper moved to the side opposite him, between Gears and Huffer.

For a minute or two Bumblebee simply studied his pace-mates, taking note of and warmed inside by the sight of the silver wire patterns intricately traced over their hands. These patterns were often used for important and personal celebrations and were only to be applied by someone outside the pace.

“Who did the filigree?” he asked with an appropriate amount of awe in his voice.

“Prowl, actually,” Gears replied, turning his hands over for Bumblebee to see the rest of the artwork. “With some help from Ratchet.”

“They had the hardest time with the Culumexian runes though,” Huffer grumped, squinting at the symbols on his palms.

“I almost wish I’d been here for it,” Bumblebee sighed, glancing at his own bare palms and fingers.

“ _Almost?_ It must have been some party Spike and Sparkplug had,” Brawn remarked, nudging him in a way that meant he ought to explain further.

Brightening, Bumblebee nodded affirmatively. “It was! First they watched a human game on the television. Umm, hokey, or… _hockey_ , I think. After that, they put on music and started making a feast! You should’ve seen all the food on their table! There were kinds I’d never even seen before. Some of them looked kind of gross—mushy stuff, you see.”

There was a collective wince and Huffer opened his mouth. Bumblebee rushed on before he could start.

“But there was also a bird they had. I asked what kind it was and Spike said it was a turkey.”

Cliffjumper leaned his chin on one hand, commenting, “I wish it’d been Laserbeak.”

“Yeah, me too, though he’d probably give them indigestion,” Bumblebee answered. He scanned the table, eyeing their energon cubes before contemplating his own, unopened. “Except, before they ate, there was a tradition they made and without a doubt it was my favorite part.” He glanced up and asked a little shyly, “I wish _we_ did it sometimes.”

Brawn straightened, folding his arms on the tabletop. “That’s a cue if I ever heard one. Alright, Bee, we’ll do it now.”

Bee’s optics lit up. “Really?!”

Nodding indulgently, Brawn prompted, “What is it?”

“Well,” Bumblebee started, quite pleased, “before we have our energon we all go around the table and say what we’re thankful for about each other.”

There was a long silence and the scout’s smile waned slightly. The rest of the Minibots looked to each other with helpless unease. They were not the oversentimental type and Bumblebee knew it, but Brawn, in his attempt to be indulgent toward his mate who they had missed over the weekend, had already promised their compliance.

“How about I go first?” Bumblebee suggested in the hopes of alleviating their obvious dread. “Gears. I’m thankful that you believe in freedom.” At Gears’ blank look, Bee went on, “Once, none of us could make choices for ourselves, but you…You fight and fight for everyone’s ability to run their own lives and I appreciate how you won’t give up until that happens.”

Gears hesitated for several kliks before clearing his throat, bucking up and declaring, “Well then, uh, I’ll go next.” He pointed an almost accusatory finger sideways, at Cliffjumper. “CJ. I like how you don’t mess around in battle. You want something done, you pull a rocket launcher out of subspace and _get_ it done and that keeps other Autobots from getting hurt.”

Cliffjumper shrugged nonchalantly but the wide grin on his face betrayed his pride in this fact. Bumblebee opened his mouth to protest that what they were thankful for was supposed to be something of each other’s character, but then he considered and decided it wasn’t as if he could tell them _not_ to be thankful for things like that.

“Alright,” Cliffjumper began, taking a sip of his energon and waving at Windcharger. “You’re fast. And powerful too. And impatient and impulsive.”

“And that’s a good thing, how?” Gears asked dryly.

Cliffjumper elbowed Gears in the side, setting his energon cube down so it sloshed. “Charger, you _get_ me cos you’re just like me. Sometimes when I’m havin’ one of my days—y’know, when I think Bots are against me—I feel better knowing you’re on the up-and-up. So yeah.”

Windcharger gave him a two-fingered salute and then tilted his helm with a contemplative smile. “Huffer.”

Almost before Windcharger finished the second syllable of his name, Huffer burst out, “Not Brawn? I thought you would—”

“Yes, you’re homesick—to a state of _depression_ ,” Windcharger spoke over him. “We all know for sure that you want things to go back to how they were. In fact, the only thing you’re more loyal to than Cybertron…well, it’s us.”

Huffer blinked several times before lowering his gaze to his energon. He didn’t lift it again even as he spoke. “Bumblebee, you’re always…so happy. Like Charger said, I’m the opposite. But you try to help us be happy too and it…I appreciate it.”

Bumblebee nodded sympathetically even as he smiled. “I like doing it. Speaking of doing it—” He cast a pointed look to his right. “You haven’t done anyone, Brawn. What are you thankful for?”

“What d’you think?” Brawn shot back, slinging one arm around Bumblebee’s shoulders and the other around Huffer’s, squeezing them tightly against his sides. “ _All_ of you!”

“Isn’t that— _ergh_ —taking the easy way out?” Huffer grunted, squirming.

“Well, I’m pace-leader; that’s my prerogative,” Brawn told him happily. “What’s also my prerogative is how long we celebrate **gratucev**. Bumblebee, let’s have your hands done up like ours.”

Bumblebee gave him a surprised sidelong glance and Brawn shrugged. “What? It’s tradition.”

“And if Prowl messes up the runes again?” Huffer demanded, pouting at his palms as he got up with the rest of the pace.

Cliffjumper chuckled sinisterly, cracking his knuckles. “Then we can take the time to be thankful for a good ol’ fashioned scrap!”


End file.
